


Heat Haze

by gentlezombie



Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Bad Flirting, Desert, Frustration, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Porn, Servant of the Shard, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: With the Crystal Shard in his possession, Artemis Entreri is certain that Jarlaxle is going to resort to any means to get it back. Including increasingly outrageous attempts at seduction. He is not wrong in all respects.





	Heat Haze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salamandercity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandercity/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, salamandercity ❤ With a prompt like this, how could I not write it? Set during the events of _Servant of the Shard_.

The road from the Dallabad Oasis to the Snowflake Mountains proved to be longer and more arduous than Artemis Entreri could ever have envisioned.

It was not the dullness of travel, nor the desert with its scorching hot days and chilly nights, which had him gnashing his teeth in silent despair. It wasn’t the wounds he had recently acquired in the sleight-of-hand which had gained him the Crystal Shard, for Jarlaxle had used healing magic on him after barraging him with questions while he was still in a weakened state. It was not even the Shard, which had settled for a moody brooding state and consoled itself with calling the occasional marauding orc band to attack them.

No, the problem was his travelling companion.

Even in the normal state of things, Jarlaxle was hard to read. Entreri thought he had the drow pinned down, had seen what there was to see of the cunning and ambition hidden beneath the resplendent surface and the flamboyant demeanour, but this was something altogether… new.

“You ride well,” Jarlaxle remarked. “These beasts are strange to me, but it seems to me that your posture would compare to that of a fine lizard-rider.”

Entreri hardly paid him heed, shading his eyes to see what lay ahead. He was waiting for the drow to pester him with more questions about horses or other surface steeds, for Jarlaxle was always hungry for information. However, the conversation did not veer where he thought it would.

“The curve of your back and your light hand on the reins seem pleasing. Has anyone ever told you that you have delicate hands for a swordsman?”

Entreri, who was still wearing the red-stitched gauntlet for handling Charon’s Claw and who had never in his life been called delicate, almost choked.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of an insult?” he asked incredulously.

Jarlaxle smiled beatifically.

“Why, is it an insult to compliment a man? Nimble hands are appreciated in my homeland in many kinds of ways.”

It was true that Jarlaxle’s own fingers were long and slender, perfect for the kinds of tricks he preferred to use. Entreri shook his head in frustration. What a nonsensical thought.

“It might be taken the wrong way,” he said, though he suspected the drow was messing with him. “I suggest you don’t use that as a conversation-opener when we get to civilization.”

“The wrong way?” Jarlaxle frowned. “My dear friend, it was said in the most sincere spirit.”

“You’re making it worse,” Entreri ground out. He had no clue what the mercenary’s angle was this time, but he was starting to get a headache.

“Ah. Then it is good that I did not compare your iron-strong spirit, capable of taming the most powerful of magical artifacts, to the strength and beauty of the stallion you are riding...”

At that point, Entreri chucked a dried date at him. The mercenary caught it in mid-air and was blissfully quieted as he chewed on the fruit.

This had been going on for some days. Out of the blue, Jarlaxle would come up with the oddest remarks about Entreri’s person. When pressed, he would only smile, raise his hands up and call them compliments or cultural misunderstandings. Having lived in Menzoberranzan, Entreri had enough of a grasp of drow culture that he didn’t believe he was misunderstanding anything. He had been afraid of a scheming and murderous travelling companion – the Crystal Shard’s hold of Jarlaxle had been strong – but nothing like this had even crossed his mind.

Either he was going mad or he was being propositioned. Few people in his life had had the courage to do that. Most of them were dead. But Jarlaxle, of all possible beings? Entreri was beginning to question his sanity.

However, that newest comment made him suspicious. Jarlaxle had mentioned Entreri’s ability to shut down Crenshinibon’s influence. Could this be another ploy of the Crystal Shard’s, when it had realised brute strength had failed? Perhaps it was inducing Jarlaxle to say these things in order to get closer to him. Entreri grimaced at the distasteful thought. Yes, that must be it. The mercenary leader was being manipulated.

The knowledge didn’t make the constant show of attention any easier to bear. Insults, grunts or tossed items failed to quell it. _Your hair looks good tucked behind your ears like that, have you considered growing it long? That beard suits you well. Have I ever told you black is really your colour?_

Entreri was beginning to believe this desert would be his doom. Death by frustration. What a magnificent end for a master assassin.

Worst of all, he got drawn into the drow’s game out of pure boredom.

“Your hat,” Entreri said shortly as they stopped to water their horses. “I like it.”

The hat did cut an amazing profile against the paling skyline.

“Why thank you,” Jarlaxle said, delighted. “I rather thought you disapproved of my plumage.”

“It has its purposes.”

“I thought you didn’t _like_ things in general.”

“I like many things.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“I don’t holler them for the whole world to hear.”

That was the end of that conversation, but it didn’t stop there. Over the course of their journey, Entreri found himself comparing various merits of clothing and physique in an increasingly outrageous fashion.

“But you must admit it has its advantages”, Jarlaxle was saying, gesturing to the short vest he was wearing again. As he wore nothing underneath, it revealed his flat stomach, hairless as the rest of him.

“In showing off your advantages,” Entreri quipped back. He refused to glance at the offending garment. It reminded him too much of Menzoberranzan; Jarlaxle had rarely worn the vest on the surface. “Have you ever heard of sunburn?”

“In horror stories told to drow children.”

“I can assure you it is real.”

“Is that why you cover every inch of your skin? It seems like such a waste.”

“Oh?”

“Those arms? It is a crime to cover them up, my friend. As soon as we get to a town, we should do something about that.”

“We really shouldn’t,” Entreri said, absent-mindedly, because he was assaulted by images of strong yet agile fingers tracing the muscles of his arms. Perhaps in a friendly bout or a wrestling match, or simply an affectionate gesture by the fire... The image was almost like a memory.

It was Crenshinibon. It had to be. The Crystal Shard seemed to rest quietly in its pouch, but did such things ever truly sleep?

Oddly enough, after a while Entreri did not find the conversations very discomfiting. It was not like Jarlaxle did not talk of other things, and enough for three people at least. The difference to their usual interactions was not too great. And despite the constant innuendo, Jarlaxle did not touch him or try to take the Crystal Shard from him.

The problem was that Entreri half-wished he would. The assassin would never have admitted it, nor made the first move, but the persistence of the drow made an impression on him. Of Jarlaxle’s daring he’d never had any doubt. However, he’d rarely had such single-minded focus trained on himself.

All for nothing, Entreri thought bitterly, for surely Jarlaxle would be freed of this spell once the artifact was destroyed.

 

* * *

 

They stumbled upon a dead-magic zone quite by accident. The small oasis looked ordinary enough. Jarlaxle was the first to notice its properties. A whole-body shudder went through the mercenary as the various magical items upon his person ceased to work. He lifted his eyepatch to his brow; now it was merely a piece of fabric obstructing his vision.

Entreri noticed it too. The ever-present call of Charon’s Claw was cut off abruptly. But what he noticed most of all was the utter silence from the Crystal Shard. Even when dormant, he could always feel its presence. Now it was gone. He shot a look at Jarlaxle, and his hand went instinctively to the pouch where the Shard still rested.

“I assure you, this is not of my doing,” Jarlaxle said with a frown. “Something about this place shuts off magic. It is the same with all of my items.”

“And my sword,” Entreri admitted.

“I suggest we get out of here in a hurry. We are far too exposed should the Crystal Shard draw any more enemies to us.”

“I thought you liked exposed,” Entreri said, falling back on their banter. “But I don’t think Crenshinibon is going to do anything while we are here. The magic or curse of this place affects it also.”

“I don’t like this,” Jarlaxle specified, but the point was moot. There was no other viable source of water or shade within a distance they could make. They had already been driving their horses hard, and they had to stop to eat and rest for the midday.

“Doesn’t matter,” Entreri said. “It’s this or give the sunburn a try. The hallucinations are particularly delightful.”

Jarlaxle turned his horse around as though he had not heard Entreri. He retraced their steps past the point where they had first encountered the strange phenomenon and urged his horse forward. However, he soon turned back with a deep frown on his face.

“The effect does not fade,” Jarlaxle announced with more than a little worry. “Could the zone be spreading? I still felt nothing from my items.”

“Godsdamn it,” Entreri snapped. This was the last thing they needed. Then he took a deep breath. “It could only take time for the effects to dissipate. Surely you’ve encountered something like this before?”

Jarlaxle nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right. I sincerely hope you are. Otherwise I’ll be in for some very expensive shopping.”

“I’m more worried about our immediate survival than your pretty collection of rings. Let’s make camp here before it gets too hot and head out again as soon as we can.”

To his consternation, Entreri found out that his magical tent did not work, either. It remained a small, brown model perched on the sand as if to insult him. They were forced to set up a canopy under the low trees growing by the oasis. It did keep the worst of the sunlight out, but he noticed Jarlaxle squinting and trying to shield his eyes from the growing light.

What was worse was the close proximity. There was barely room enough to sit straight in the makeshift shelter, and he had to struggle not to brush up against Jarlaxle every time he moved. After the journey he’d had, Entreri was about to explode with tension.

Jarlaxle shook his head as if that would dispel the sunlight’s effect. He had taken off his hat to fit inside the shelter, and without its shade Entreri could more fully appreciate the fine bone structure of the drow’s face. Of course, the assassin was paying no heed to such things. He was also acutely aware that he was very bad at lying to himself.

He noticed Jarlaxle looking at him.

“Your eyes are immensely more practical here at the surface,” the drow said thoughtfully. “I suppose I’ll adapt in time. Have I ever told you that I find the colour of your eyes very striking? That steely grey which flashes whenever you...”

Entreri snapped.

“Not this again!” he growled. “I know it’s that bloody Crystal Shard making you say those things in some hare-brained attempt to seduce me and steal the Shard, and it’s not going to work!”

Jarlaxle blinked.

“The Crystal Shard?”

“All those compliments and that damnable interest, I know they don’t come from you! You’re not interested in me in the slightest. It’s only Crenshinibon playing its games again. And I’ve no more patience for them. Next time, you’ll find yourself at the wrong end of my dagger.”

There. Now it was said. The strangeness would cease, Entreri could get a moment’s respite, and whatever ideas had been planted in his head would fade in time. He hoped.

“My friend,” Jarlaxle said slowly, “don’t you realise we’re in the middle of a dead magic zone?”

“Yes,” Entreri ground out.

“And you have assured me it affects the Crystal Shard as well.”

“I told you that.”

The mercenary let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Does that not lead you to some pretty obvious conclusions regarding my interest and my intent, free of all outside influence?”

Jarlaxle had paid him another ridiculous compliment. Out of his own free will.

Oh.

“So this is not some long-winded seduction ploy.”

Jarlaxle shrugged. “It was supposed to be a seduction, but you don’t take too well to that. A plain, ordinary seduction with no plans to steal anything you don’t want me to have.”

The mercenary was seldom caught off guard, but he did not anticipate Entreri grabbing him by his shirt and crushing their lips together. After the initial surprise, he was very happy with this turn of events. When they parted, panting in the midday heat, he licked a drop of blood from his bottom lip.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, assassin,” Jarlaxle said with a low chuckle.

“Weeks,” Entreri growled. “You’ve tormented me for weeks with your sweet nothings and inane compliments when you could have just said something!”

“Would you have believed me?” Jarlaxle asked, leaning in for another biting kiss.

“Not in the slightest,” Entreri said.

“Then it all worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

“You always think you have it all figured out,” the assassin said. “I’ll wipe that smug smirk off your face.”

“You can always try,” Jarlaxle said, and laughed as Entreri pushed him down by his shoulders.

The air was sweltering, little heat mirages danced in the air around the makeshift tent, and inside clothing clung to sweaty skin as they grappled with each other. It wasn’t even a mock-fight, since there was precious little room for anything, but from his position on his back Jarlaxle managed to effectively drive Entreri crazy. He was rubbing one thigh between the assassin’s legs while the other wrapped deftly around his waist, trapping Entreri who let out a flustered gasp. It had been far too long since he had allowed anyone to touch him like this. He tried to retaliate by grabbing Jarlaxle’s wrists, but the drow was too quick for that, and the touch of his wandering hands made Entreri shudder in delight. How the drow could light up his body like this he had no idea.

“I said less clothing was good,” Jarlaxle said as Entreri cursed when he tried to get rid of his shirt and it stuck to his back. Somehow, Jarlaxle had already managed to lose his own shirt and was working on the assassin’s trousers. His hands seemed to be everywhere, running down the assassin’s back, feeling up his ass and brushing inside the waistband.

“Are you expecting me to concede?” Entreri huffed as he threw the offending shirt away. That paused Jarlaxle, who was clearly appreciating the scenery. His hands came up to map every inch of Entreri’s shoulders and arms like he was memorising the texture of his skin.

“You do not know yourself,” the mercenary said as though he hadn’t heard the question. Entreri felt undone by the intensity of his look. “You have capabilities beyond killing and maiming. So much potential... But for now, you could do me a favour and stay still.”

Entreri was about to demand what for, when Jarlaxle slithered dexterously underneath him while simultaneously pulling down his trousers. He caught on quickly and drew a sharp breath, bracing himself on the bedroll they had spread. He hissed at the touch of agile fingers on his cock, then gasped as he felt the wet heat of Jarlaxle’s mouth. In this, Entreri was willing to concede that Jarlaxle’s hundreds of years of experience were an advantage. Had he had any coherent thoughts left in his head, he would have been embarrassed by how quickly he was undone. Jarlaxle’s warm hands on his hips guided him to fuck his mouth in a rhythm controlled by the mercenary, and he could do nothing but close his eyes and chase that pleasure. He was beginning to shake and knew he was close.

It was too much. Too much like granting Jarlaxle a victory. The desire and need to take action took over. Quick as a snake, Entreri pushed Jarlaxle away and rolled them over, sliding down the drow’s body until their eyes met. One of the makeshift poles holding their canopy together got knocked down in the process. Jarlaxle stared at him in confusion, his eyes glazed. As Entreri reached down, he realised that Jarlaxle had been stealthily stroking himself, getting off on sucking his cock. It looked like it had had a powerful effect on him, too, for the mercenary leader was curiously quiet, waiting for Entreri’s move.

“You are insufferable,” Entreri said as he lined their cocks up and rocked against Jarlaxle. The pressure and the slick slide goaded a moan out of the mercenary. “The most damnable being I’ve ever met.”

He leaned in to kiss Jarlaxle to shut up any protests and reached down to take Jarlaxle’s cock in his hand. It was all disturbingly pleasant – the weight and warmth of the drow’s cock, his clear eagerness, the cleverness of his mouth. It could be easy for a man to get lost in that. Belatedly, Entreri realised he might already have been lost, long before he cared to admit.

Here and now was what mattered. That was what he had always believed. While stroking Jarlaxle with his other hand, he brought two fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, gauging the mercenary’s reaction. He head a sharp intake of breath and felt Jarlaxle spread his thighs wider. He would have tormented the drow as payback for all the frustration he had endured, but he was quickly losing patience himself. Entreri grinned and leaned in to kiss Jarlaxle while he pushed two fingers inside the mercenary. The ensuing hiss got swallowed up, and Jarlaxle’s back arched off the ground. Beautiful, Entreri thought. Entirely, dangerously beautiful.

He continued to stroke the drow’s cock while working his fingers, learning quickly what elicited the most dramatic reactions. Jarlaxle was working his hips in time with him, tossing his head and moaning without reservations. It looked like he had not done this in a good while, either, or else it was simply a show of his hedonistic nature. Entreri could work with both. But now they were too far gone to consider anything which would have required finesse. A few last punishing thrusts from Entreri’s fingers, and Jarlaxle came with a shout, his red eyes wide open. Entreri continued to fuck himself against the drow’s hip, and Jarlaxle watched him with sated curiosity as he came without a hand on himself.

Entreri rolled over, breathing heavily. For a moment, silence reigned in the wrecked shelter except for their collective panting. Entreri found he was shaking slightly from the intensity of the encounter. Jarlaxle could no doubt feel it, plastered against Entreri’s side as he was, but for the moment the assassin couldn’t be bothered to care.

Naturally the drow was the first to break the silence.

“Nope. Still smirking.”

“What?” Entreri’s mind was caught in a pleasant haze.

“You said you’d wipe the smirk off my face. I’m afraid you’ve failed.” Jarlaxle flashed him a white grin from the shade of the canopy.

“Then I’ll have my work cut out for me,” Entreri shot back.

Artemis Entreri could be a very patient man.


End file.
